


Inspection

by GlowwormiK



Series: Thace&Prorok [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Galra Empire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowwormiK/pseuds/GlowwormiK
Summary: A spin-off toTreason.How exactly did Thace learn about Voltron's arrival? Was he as overjoyed as a true Blade should have been?A slice-of-life addition to the main storyline, inspired by@astfut's amazing drawing (see chapter three for it) and@dragonnova's sweet supportive comments.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonnova/gifts).



Usually, Prorok is the one travelling. Locals about to rebel, thieves, lazy heads and cowards - they all require Commander's personal presence once in a while. And more than presence - his sharp eye and decaphoeb-long experience to take one look and know what is really going on, his silver tongue to raise their spirits, and, of course, his breathtaking wrath and readiness to punish when he finds deliberate sabotage. Thace knows he isn't good at any of that, so he gladly stays behind at the flagship. It also allows him to close his eyes upon who his lover is serving and not break his heart thinking about the day he will inevitably have to help his brothers ruin what Prorok is building. Besides, his job in the backstage is no less important - without his constant efforts to organize and classify, Prorok would sink in all the data he is now sending right to his assistant in form of messy screenshots and folders half-filled with junk files. He would have to hold all the information in his head, forget something, pay more attention to other things than really necessary and generally do a less optimal job. This seemingly happened a lot before, so Prorok never ceases to emphasize how helpful he finds Thace’s consolidated reports that he receives three times a day when he is outside.  

 

This time is no different: Prorok has wrapped up everything he had to do before the trip - well, the biggest part at least, it is impossible to wrap up all of his countless duties - and took the rest of the evening off to cuddle and review the papers. Much to Thace’s disappointment, the first has to happen after the latter.

 

“The ores, the ores are our top priority,” Prorok says, leaned over the table in his study, while Thace stands behind him, looking over his shoulder. The commander seemingly looks in his datapad, but Thace notices small sideways glances his lover is giving him every once in a while. The Lieutenant once again feels as if his insides melt with joy at this wordless sign of attention.

 

“I downloaded Yilvik’s spectral charts on your pad,” he announces, smiling like an idiot. “And projected them on maps, so that you can look into them even on your way there, without the data connection to the fleet. Here, let me… “Ore Data”, then the folder corresponding to the planet. I also put population density in - yes, under “Extra Data” here - and areas with denser rocks for when you will be planning excavation sites.”

 

“M-hmm, yes, yes, wonderful. What about seismic activity maps? Here they are… Aw, sweetheart, you really thought of everything, didn’t you? Thank you, perfect Thace!“

 

Prorok smiles, turns and now looks at Thace directly, tenderness and pride in his eyes almost make Thace squeal with delight.

 

“Well, I am supposed to serve my commander with all I have, don’t I?”

 

“Did you serve your previous senior officers with the same fervour?” Prorok frowns, but twitching corners of his lips give him out. “Should I start getting jealous?”

 

“Oh, no, my fervour was negligible, Commander.” Thace grins. “Motivation is all about extra privileges a soldier can receive, like getting to sleep with the senior officer in question. It is a new invention to boost the spirits, ever heard about it, Sir?”

 

Prorok huffs, pulls Thace closer in and the Lieutenant feels a strong hand press his buttcheek, claws biting through the uniform, sending a familiar wave of heat in Thace's crotch.

 

“I heard of many things,” Prorok murmurs into his ear, making fur on his neck stand up. “I heard there was a certain horny lieutenant... in my fleet, can you imagine? I heard he was so eager that he could hardly wait until the evening; and when he couldn’t wait any longer, he would come into the main cockpit and secretly drool over his crush - such undignified behaviour, isn’t it, Lieutenant Thace?”

 

“Absolutely disgusting,” Thace answers, tracing his fingers through his lover’s fur, scratching with the tips of his claws behind his ears and watching Prorok squint blissfully. “Under no circumstances can such tendencies be tolerated in the fleet. I have an idea, Sir: you should strip and stroll along the corridors to lure the criminal out. I suggest we rehearse it here, right away.”

 

Thace has now taken the initiative, as usual, and now he slides his hands and gropes and squeezes as much as he wants to. Prorok utters a single hysterical giggle - he is self-conscious about his body like a teenager, an unexpectedly cute trait that contradicts the rest of his self-assured personality.

 

“No… I mean… we risk having you die of laughter in the course of our little rehearsal!”

 

“The only thing I will be dying of is lust, like I do every day!” Thace frowns, and Prorok pulls him into a kiss.

 

“Thank you, my heart,” he murmurs when he breaks it. “How about we relocate to a more advantageous position, like, say, bedroom?”

 

“If it was up to me, we would be relocating there on cruiser speed,” Thace grins.

 

They do “relocate”, but Thace’s hope for one last sex before several days of separation is not bound to be fulfilled. Just as they get _really_ comfortable, Prorok’s communicator goes off. _Why can’t he leave the quiznaking device out of the bedroom_ , Thace thinks, but then he notices something strange. The communicator doesn’t just beep and vibrate, like it usually does, it also flashes bright red lights even through the fabric of Prorok’s jacket it is covered with and almost jumps off the counter with vibration. Thace looks at his lover - Prorok watches the device in confusion, then grabs it and runs off to the study. _Sure, don’t let me hear what happened,_ Thace frowns, _like I am some untrustworthy thug from the lower deck and not your assistant! But then don’t expect me to clean up the mess you end up creating…_

 

He has no time to finish his thought - Prorok returns to the bedroom almost immediately. His narrow yellow eyes are now big and round, like those golden disks some primitive cultures use for money.

 

“You... I...  ah - you’ll have to inspect those planets for me,” he finally manages. Thace can’t believe his ears - what could have happened to make Prorok, the best speaker Thace knew, stutter like that?

 

“Sweetheart, what was it?”

 

“It’s… I never heard it… I mean, what could have happened?” Prorok slowly regains his usual energetic attitude and starts pacing around the room, putting his clothes back on and talking at the same time. “This is the Emperor’s absolute emergency call code, honey, reserved for the commanders. It means that every other task must be immediately abandoned and we are supposed to arrive in the headquarters, which I am going to do right away. You will have to go on my mission tomorrow - where is my sock? - though I don’t know how long it will take me, maybe I’ll return fast - fetch me the bag please, would you? - I need to give Thag the passkey and instructions, she will be in charge in my absence - Jet One, Commander speaking: start preparing for a hyper-jump immediately, code purple; yes, code purple, what are you, deaf?...”

 

Thace gets out of bed and gathers the bag, the datapad and its replacement, one of Prorok’s smaller travel sets, some of the latest files he was working with, clean underwear and a scarf, makes a quick sandwich from the contents of the fridge; then he returns to the bedroom to find his lover still on his communicator, giving instructions. He gestures Thace to give him the bag and rummages thorough its contents.

 

“...responsible for the immediate executive functions over the fleet and the sector. What, no! Stand by and keep everyone safe until further orders from the central command - don’t disappoint me. Oh good, I’ll need something to eat - no, it’s not for you, Thag, get out of bed and start fulfilling your functions like I trained you to.”

 

He finally puts the communicator down.

 

“Prorok, maybe it isn’t the best idea to send me...”

 

“Sorry, Thace, everything stays as it is - no time to reconsider. Thag will look after the fleet, Yilvik will make sure the machinery works and you’ll do just fine with the inspection - you were the one who planned it, after all. Thank you for packing my things - we don’t want to make the Emperor wait, do we?”

 

He disappears behind the door, leaving a crumpled shirt and a faint trail of his cologne behind, and Thace looks at the clock - it has only been less than ten doboshes since the communicator sounded the alarm. _Prorok will probably be one of the first commanders to appear there,_ Thace thinks numbly, unsure what to do now that he is so torn out of his routine, and sits down at the bed. _Prorok, the faithful yapper who runs off the second his master blew the whistle. He may act like he cares about my opinion, but the second his Emperor gives him an order, he stops being mine and returns to his true imperial self. But what could have happened, why was he called, what if something bad happens to him when I am too far away to help?_

 

He can’t sleep that night, staring in the ceiling and clutching his communicator, but no message arrives from Prorok. The next morning, Thace departs on his Commander’s mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Inspecting those planets is very different from what Thace expected. Since he is travelling in commander’s stead and in his jet, he thought it would be a comfortable trip with a lot of bootlicking, where he would mostly have to look through various deceptions. The reality hits him right in the face with a gust of disgustingly humid, hot, stinking air when he gets out of the jet on the first moon, starts sweating immediately and doesn’t stop until the very end of his journey. The reality sticks to his boots in form of brown mud that turns into fine red dust when it dries and gets between every hair on the Lieutenant’s body (no proper showers, of course, who would waste resources on a newly colonized planet on that?). The reality is merciless shaking when the jet enters the atmosphere, so that Thace almost bites the tip of his tongue off and severely hits his head on the luggage compartment ( _you are lucky we have almost no wind, Lieutenant!_ ); it is constantly wet clothes that can’t be properly dried.  

 

But, above all, the reality are hordes upon hordes of people wanting to talk to the Commander and being severely disappointed to only see Thace in his place. Each one of them has been waiting to present their concerns for a long time and now is trying to make sure that exactly his or her point is heard and noticed. They siege Thace everywhere he goes, they yell, they smell, they expect the Lieutenant to know the context of their demand by heart. After the very first station, Thace wants nothing more than to hide in the quietness of his working quarters and have some time to process the avalanche of sensory information that pours into his ringing head. Alas, there is no such option - so, a painkiller in a bathroom (the only place where Thace remains alone and doesn’t have to talk, come up with solutions on-the-fly and, Quiznak take it, look like he has everything under control!), and the poor Lieutenant heads off to his next destination.

 

It’s not that Thace is lazy, or overly sensitive, but his missions used to happen in more technological environments.  He used to derive detailed plans to sabotage fleets, to retrieve data from the most secure locations, transmit messages - but always alone and in secrecy, always with careful preparation, never surrounded by so many _people,_ each of whom _wants_ something… Too many dangerous and annoying living creatures surround him - galra who follow him in an entourage that resembles a convoy, locals who bow only to hide death wishes in their eyes, an insect infestation on the second moon, a weird hairy and toothy creature that turns out to be the governor's beloved pet and that he has to pat on the head (or maybe it was the butt: with all the hair, Thace isn't quite sure).  Now Thace understands why the photos that the Commander sends are so skewed and why his notes are full of typos - it is simply impossible to operate the datapad properly with all the dust, shaking, after having slept less than a varga in a jet! It is impossible to concentrate because someone is constantly yelling into your ear - they know about discipline, but their problems seem so dire to them that they are willing to disregard it. Thace swears to himself to properly apologize for having mocked Prorok for his negligence to the fleet’s business when he is away - the Lieutenant is so overwhelmed by everything he has to do that he wonders how he didn’t forget his head somewhere on his way. His back hurts, his head hurts, his stomach hurts and he wishes nothing more than to return home and forget this nightmare of an inspection.

 

Prorok returns and sends him a message towards the end of his journey, but it is impossible to figure out what exactly happened, so Thace has to also suffer from uncertainty, in addition to everything else. By the time his jet lands in the docs, he wants to be washed, brushed, hugged and listened to like never before. Prorok catches him on his way to the bridge - perfectly healthy and unharmed, but overwrought like Thace has never seen him before. He is so loaded with impatience that it seems like he might start sending off sparkles.

 

“I need to talk to you, right now!”

 

“But… shower...” Thace mewles, being dragged along like a puppet.

 

“Later! I need to tell you something!”

 

“Voltron has returned!” Prorok exhales, after he shuts the door behind both of them, hardly able to refrain from shaking. “ _The_ Voltron! The Emperor declared it absolute priority, we all will be catching it! This is, of course, still secret, there was no official announcement...”

 

Thace doesn’t listen: the name Prorok spoke of explodes in his head and makes him go blind and deaf for a moment. _Voltron…_ The ultimate weapon, the only hope of defeating the one who holds the whole known universe in his fist, the millenia-long dream of the Blade and Zarkon alike - and it reappears now of all times? Why? Why not a decaphoeb earlier, while Thace still knew nearly nothing about Prorok? Where were the lions hidden after all? Who pilots them - are there alteans left?  Does the Blade know already? If only he had a way of communicating with them...

 

“Thace, are you listening?” Prorok asks, and the Lieutenant jumps a little.

 

“No,” Thace admits. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure it is no mistake?”

 

“Oh, I am sure,” Prorok’s grin is gloomy now. “There is battle footage: the blue beast was the first to reawaken and destroyed a cruiser all on its way before disappearing in a wormhole, reawakening its mates and attacking Sendak’s fleet.”

 

“It… has already attacked? The pilots are already capable of doing that?”

 

“I know, it is unbelievable, right? Legend has it, the original paladins needed months of training... We need to capture them before they harness the full power of the robot!”

 

“We? Capture? Why would we of all people need to attack?”

 

Prorok cups Thace’s face and turns his head to and fro.

 

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head during your mission, honey? Capturing Voltron is our Lord’s lifelong ambition, and we shall do our best to help him achieve it! Thace, get ready as fast as you can and get to the bridge. I am declaring highest operational readiness and I

need your help.”

 

Thace showers quickly (he finds a dead insect stuck in the fur behind his ear and suspects it won’t be the last one) and gets to the bridge, his heart heavy and his thoughts in disarray. One thing is clear - Voltron means war, and now Thace has to decide which side he will be fighting on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing image by astfut. See all her art [here](http://astfut.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art).

 

“What took you so long?” Prorok snaps when he sees his assistant. “I need you to review the readiness reports, and also check for incoming messages from battle stations, they seem to be experiencing problems. Switch them to my communicator, but only if it is dire.”

 

“What will you be doing?”

 

“I will be writing a speech. I have the honour to announce our Emperor’s next target publicly!”

 

The obvious pride in Prorok’s eyes sickens Thace.

 

“Yes, Commander, go ahead,” he mumbles. “I will notify you if something happens.”

 

And yet he can't force himself to work properly and seeks Prorok's company less than a varga later. The Commander is in his study, chewing a pen with all the strength of his massive sharp teeth and staring absently in front of himself. The metal tip of the pen has already turned into splinters, so Prorok spits them out and rolls them on the table with his finger.

 

“Prorok, do you have a minute? While I was out inspecting these colonies...”

 

“Would you mind?” Prorok explodes immediately. “Don’t you see that I am busy? To Quiznak with the inspection, it is not our priority anymore!”

 

“The third Parak world moon is experiencing lack of drinkable water,” Thace hisses. “Their wells are drying faster than expected. All the miners are forced to work under inhumane conditions, we need to improve their excavation sites - if not out of mercy, then at least to prevent them from suffering too many casualties and slowing down our work. Oh, and the orbit station has trouble dumping their waste, they need technicians. Those people have _problems_ , Prorok, actual problems we need to address, not just these Zarkon’s grandiose schemes...”

 

“Zarkon’s… what? How dare you, you ungrateful cub! The Empire, _your_ Empire, exists only thanks to his Majesty, and you dare call his orders _schemes_? How dare you compare the Emperor's word with some miners' pitiful whining!”

 

It hurts more than Thace expected: before, he avoided talking about politics with his lover, so now is the first time he is personally faced with imperial propaganda coming from the most beautiful mouth in universe. _This is not my empire_ , Thace wants to yell, _this has never been my empire! You are retarded to think that any decent person could support it. And you know perfectly well that Zarkon is not a benevolent ruler you try to picture in your little speeches!_ He doesn’t say anything, of course, just turns and shuts the door behind himself.

 

Rage and resentment burn in his chest while he rounds up the reports both from his mission and newer ones, from Prorok’s latest orders. _That disgusting two-faced bastard! “Sweetheart”! “My perfect Thace”! “I’ll never use my power to push you somewhere”! Where did all this go when I actually need him? How quickly did he turn on me when I dared criticize his dearest Emperor’s orders!_ Another incoming document, addressed to Prorok - the Lieutenant opens it. An official thank you note from the governor: “I have to separately note Lieutenant Thace's highly professional approach and reliable...”. _So I was good after all,_ Thace thinks with spiteful joy as he heads back to his quarters. _I proved myself worthy even on your dumb mission for your bloodthirsty empire, and you don't even care enough to say so_. Thace grits his teeth when he keeps dropping things while he takes a proper, long and hot, shower after his shift and finds out that most of his necessities have migrated into Prorok's chambers and that he now has to go there get his things of he wants to sleep in his rooms.

 

Prorok's quarters greet him with a pile of paper balls on the floor. The host is lying in an armchair in his study, sunken so deep that his head is barely visible over the table, tearing his notebook apart page by page, crumpling them and throwing the resulting balls through the door into the living room. All the excitement has vanished, his face is so miserable that Thace feels compassion bite even through all the anger that has flooded his heart.

 

“What’s wrong?” Thace asks. _Only as a spy, only as an information for the Blade, definitely not to help this treacherous imperial officer out of his bad mood._

 

“I am a worthless piece of weblum waste, that's what,” Prorok answers gloomily. “I can't write one ten-dobosh speech. Maybe I am getting old after all and my brain starts to rot… By the way, the governor called and said you were very convincing: congratulations, sweetheart, brilliant job as usual.”

 

“Your brain is just fine, trust me,” Thace sighs: under other circumstances, Prorok's praise would have melted his heart, but now he only feels more bitter. He picks one paper ball from the floor and unfolds it. “ ‘A long-sought opportunity, a cherry on the cake of countless victories of our empire…’ Why do you say you can’t write anything - this one looks just fine to me?”

 

“I don’t exactly remember which one is this one,” Prorok grimaces. “But it is just as terrible as all the others. It has to be grandiose, Thace! It has to reflect just how important Voltron is, what kind of historical event we are facing. This is all usual stuff that I say every week…”

 

Thace comes over to Pororok and the Commander shifts in his armchair to make place for him to sit. Lieutenant’s hands burn with desire to hug his lover, but he just looks down, torn apart by the wish to spit out what he is truly thinking. Then the realization hits him: _Prorok always writes by inspiration. If he can’t write, than the inspiration is..._

 

“You don’t feel how historical this is, do you?” he asks quietly. “You don’t really want to hunt Voltron. You’d rather continue the expansion in your own sector, handle the miners and do your regular job. You want to chase Voltron because you are so ambitious and it promises you glory, but deep down, you don’t really feel...”

 

“Enough!” Prorok barks, jumping up like a straightened spring. “This is all nonsense! Of course I understand how important this quest is for the Empire! Stop projecting your own insecurities on me - I still have to find out where those come from, by the way!”

 

They stare at each other for a couple of ticks, then Thace averts his eyes. He understood enough, and now his heart is singing with joy - even if Prorok doesn't want to face his concerns, he still has them.

 

“Honey, I didn’t mean to question your loyalty to the Empire or you bravery,” he smiles, and Prorok immediately smiles back. “I just thought it might be a useful thought.”

 

“Thank you, Thacey,” Prorok plants a short kiss near Thace’s ear before sitting down again. “You are right - everything did happen a little too sudden. Maybe this is the idea, though? How everyone - every single ordinary galra - has a chance to help in something greater than ourselves when we least expect it?”

 

His eyes turn absent again and the pen lands back in his mouth, so Thace leaves and closes the door quietly. Not quite the result he would like to see, but still better than thinking that Prorok is a fanatic like his Emperor. He stays in Prorok’s rooms for the evening, but he has to go to bed alone - the Commander still broods over the speech.

 

Thace wakes up in the middle of the night, disoriented, his neck hurting from laying uncomfortably. He is not alone in the bed anymore - Prorok’s massive body now casts a dark shadow on him. He raises himself on an elbow - the lights in the bedroom are dimmed except for the lamp on a nightstand. The Commander must have taken his writing with him into the bed and passed out in the middle of it - he lies on his stomach, his hand still clenching a pen, his head on top of a pile of drafts, right under the light. It doesn’t bother him, though - he sleeps so tightly that his breath is hardly audible. Thace carefully takes the pen out of his fingers, switches the lamp off and pulls the commander into a hug. Prorok sighs in his sleep, murmurs Thace's name, turns on his back and rolls his head over onto Lieutenant's shoulder in an endearing gesture of unconscious trust. For a couple of doboshes, Thace watches his lover’s calm face: Prorok looks so serene in his sleep, so breathtakingly beautiful. He is wonderfully heavy and soft, one of his sideburns stands askew from lying on his cheek and his neck forms the ideal curve for Thace's shoulder. It seems as if all the misunderstanding between them has disappeared, all the cruelty, war, mutual resentment, Zarkon, Voltron, dirt and ambitions - everything that bothered them is gone and there is just this quiet togetherness. Thace presses his cheek to his lover’s fur and sighs again, remembering how Prorok always used to help him in his first movements of his new duty, how much was he was inclined to invest to make his not-yet-lover to feel welcome and at home in the fleet.The exhaustion of crazy last quintants and his lover’s comforting presence start taking over Thace, he feels how his eyelids grow heavier with every tick. One last thought slides over his consciousness before he allows himself to pass out.

_Voltron or no Voltron, Prorok’s safety must be my top priority. I cannot afford anything to happen to him._


End file.
